The 1500 hour has arrived

And with my egress from the bus I'd said goodbye

To a school I'd managed to survive.

Now I'm at a home that's a potential landmine

Now you know from Part 1 the regimentation

But what you do not know is the isolation

My parents will fault anyone my age who lives nearby

Everyone else in the neighborhood is in elementary or junior high

When I have time to myself some days,

After I do dishes and homework, I listen to the children play

Wishing I was younger; wondering why the hell

This is my fate in a makeshift cell

I might as well be a ghost like the phantom hitchhiker in Massachusetts.

At least that way, to my parents I'm not a nuisance.

Maybe my father is right; maybe I am dreadfully gawky

To where other teenagers see me and want to run to Milwaukee.

I must prove him wrong; somehow I must.

Because if he's right, then the first prayer after my birth should have been "ashes to ashes dust to dust".

And no, neither parent cares how I feel

They only care about me obeying their every will,

And my virility

Even if it replaces authenticity.

The weekday shutdown is in effect

By the time the 1500 hour's long hand is erect

Enjoy your life; I'll see you the next weekday

In school, the other phase of my egregious estate.